But, as I hurl the whizzing casting-spear,
My shaft beside the mark I may not speed.
To Song-queens splendour-throned with joy draws near
Their champion, and to Oligaithus’ seed.
How oft at Nemea these have shone victorious
And at the Isthmus, all will I comprise
In few words: of the record passing-glorious
My tale a truthful witness ratifies—
Ay, under oath—that noble herald’s tongue
Which published threescore victories in the names
Of this House—welcome-sweet his accents rung!—
When Nemea and the Isthmus held their games.